


Greek mythology - Hades and Persephone AU

by gudetama (elementary)



Series: Prompt stuff [6]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Artemis!Newt, Assertive Newt, Courtship, Hades!Percival, Husbands, Implied Sexual Content, Implied bottom!Percival, Kissing, M/M, Marriage, Mutual Pining, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 04:56:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementary/pseuds/gudetama
Summary: Inspired bythis post"winter is tough, but this is the price we pay for persephone being able to peg her husband in peace, so just accept it"but since I used Gramander there was no pegging involved and I butchered the mythology to fit the story lol. and then I got obsessed with the verse so it expanded into a trilogy of drabbles!also if you'd like visuals (even if you don't) PLEASE CHECK THESE PIECES OUT BY SSSILKWORMS:them boys,Newt as Artemis, the seductress,flowers everywhere





	1. zombie apocalypse conundrum

Unlike the previous ones, this year doesn’t drag on for Percival in the absence of his lovely wife. Some epidemic is occurring aboveground in which the humans are  _not_  dying due to a particular developed strain of virus that reanimates them upon death, and millions of poor, confused souls around the world are hovering between this life and the after, bringing chaos to the natural order.

Upon sensing trouble and receiving an update from one of his servants, Percival had personally left the Underworld to meet with Pestilence and ask what was the meaning of this—yes, this is what their reality has come to, the god of death (Greek to be specific, some pagan deities are very sensitive about these things) holding an urgent crisis meeting with a fucking Horsewoman of the Apocalypse. Pestilence had informed him that all she was responsible for was the fundamental virus itself, not the manipulation and mutation of it. Oh no, that must have been one of smaller fish out there, thinking it a fun prank to plant that idea in some human’s head. Americans, mostly.

_“You know how it is these days, Hades—oh, it’s Percival now, right?” Pestilence corrects herself. “Free will and all, ‘you be you, I’ll be me’ boundaries. And humans, they were always a little special.”_

And now here he is, waist-deep in documents in his office, writing and reading over letters to send to the relevant parties to delegate this whole matter properly, and of course the task falls to him because everyone is a lazy asshole who can’t be bothered to do the paperwork. They can’t just kill the virus, of course not, because that will result in an overwhelming wave after wave of panicking souls flooding the gates of Hell, Nirvana, his own realm and others, and they’re beyond understaffed to deal with that kind of mess.

He’s so occupied by his work that it only vaguely registers the change in energy and atmosphere some hours later, the miniscule vibrations of his guard dog scampering through the realm the least of his concerns.

Then everything quiets once more, and he writes away in peace.

Until somebody slams through the doors.

“I’m home, love!”

Percival looks up and smiles automatically at the sight of his beloved—an adorable mess of auburn curls, bright green eyes like the spring he loves, a bundle of wild energy wrapped up in a package of lean musculature and freckled skin.

“Welcome home, dear,” Percival greets warmly, then promptly returns to the paper in his hands.

He doesn’t see the face and arms of his wife fall, brows scrunching in confusion and mouth turning down with disappointment.

“Percy?”

Percival makes a noncommittal sound, revising some wording on the sentence he’s reading. If he can get through a few more, then he can take a break. “Sorry, dear, I’ll be finished soon.”

It takes him a bit—another couple letters—to realize that his wife hasn’t answered him yet. The silence bothers him enough to stop and look up, and he flinches back in surprise to find Newt looming over him from across the desk.

“Is this the ‘Zombie Apocalypse Conundrum’ that has everyone clucking like chickens recently,” Newt asks calmly, but it doesn’t sound like a question

The tone of it makes Percival swallow for some reason. “Yes? Yes, hm—it’s quite the headache, but we have a solution—”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised to find you doing everything,” Newt sighs, frowns and pulls the papers out of Percival’s hands. “You work too hard, darling.”

Fingers twitching and tamping down on the desire to snatch them back, Percival puts on a patient smile. “It can’t be helped; they aren’t the most mature bunch.”

A hand unexpectedly cups his cheek, and Percival faintly realizes as he instinctively leans into the touch that they haven’t even kissed yet. Guilt nags at him and he opens his mouth to apologize. And stops when the hand slides further—along his jaw, over his ear—to around the back of his neck. Newt leans in at the same time he tugs on Percival’s neck, drawing close but staying just out of reach. Percival feels his breath from this distance.

“Here is what will happen, love,” Newt says; low, quiet, a little bit dangerous like the sudden glint in his eyes. “I’m going to get you help and let those fools handle this problem, because we have precious little time as is without you drowning in pesky matters.”

“Newt,” Percival scolds, “it’s hardly  _pesky_ —”

“Right, because I could have had you at least once by now and what can possibly be more important?” Newt scoffs.

Percival swallows again, the words igniting a small ember of desire in his gut despite his effort to stay focused. Newt’s stare is like a physical thing when he follows the movement, eyes darkening with a familiar hunger that he can feel spread through his own being in response. Any other time, most situations would be considered trivial because for all that they love one another deeply, their time together is always lacking because of their duties and obligations, and so they learned to spend every second efficiently.

In other words, making love like there is no tomorrow.

His wife is particularly sensitive about wasted time each time he comes home, always greeting Percival at the gates with a searing kiss before sweeping him off to the nearest private area and bending him over the first surface available. There are exceptions of course, such as this year, but it seems Newt is having none of it.

Wetting dry lips, Percival clears his throat. “Your creatures, sweetheart,” he reminds Newt gently.

“My brother will take care of them,” Newt responds without missing a beat. “Now, be a good boy and let me take you to bed. We already need to make up for lost time.”

And then he closes the gap, opens Percival’s mouth with lips and tongue and teeth, delving deeply and arousing Percival even more as the wet, filthy sounds of their kiss echo in the room. It’s heat and pressure, pain and pleasure that has Percival releasing embarrassing noises, leaves him panting for oxygen that he doesn’t require. His wife climbs over the desk at some point and lands in Percival’s lap, stroking his nape and tilting his chin to angle the next kiss while caressing the bare skin of his hip underneath the robes. Percival’s hands are in Newt’s hair, tugging helplessly at the onslaught of sensations from the simple act of joining their mouths together.

“Come to bed, Percy,” Newt murmurs against his lips before pulling back a little further. The hand at his hip slides closer to where Percival needs it, teases just shy of it, and causes him to shudder. “It has been too long; let me pleasure you until you melt beneath my hands.”

They both know it’s futile for him to resist, Percival having realized early on in their marriage that he can never win against his beloved.

“Yes, dear.”


	2. the prequel aka how they got together

“Really? What happened to Persephone?” Theseus asks before biting viciously into the meat. “Or whatever she’s called these days.”

Percival pauses with his own bite of food halfway to his mouth, feels a faint pulse of pain at the reminder. “Queenie. And it didn’t work out, obviously,” he sighs as his appetite fades. “She—in no uncertain terms—expressed how she felt about my realm and my… disposition.”

“That would be the part where you kidnap the maiden and make her your wife regardless,” Theseus points out. “So they say. The reputation your brothers made for us would have had no one blink an eye.”

“I know,” Percival shrugs, noting that Theseus doesn’t comment about his person. Is he really so bad? “But that’s just so crude and base. Inappropriate. What would be the point if she hates me?”

“Mercy, you’ll never find a wife with that kind of attitude, Perce.”

Percival glares at his friend. “Not everyone can be as fortunate as you, you ass. Mutual love at first sight is a myth even among us.”

“And I say this again:  _you_  are simply too romantic to be a god,” Theseus teases. “Such a pity for a bachelor of your calibre.”

“This bachelor doesn’t need your pity, thank you,” Percival says, rolling his eyes.

The light-hearted banter improves his mood somewhat, even if the topic is a tad depressing. He finally takes a bite of his meal and savours the explosion of flavours in his mouth. Though he doesn’t indulge in it often, culinary creations of the human origin are a weakness of his and he’s glad that his friend enjoys it the same. Ambrosia isn’t the worst of foods, but it’s more of a necessity and quite bland compared to most things he has tasted over the years. Nectar, the humans call it, but it’s about as sweet as Aphrodite when scorned and out for blood and justice.

“So, who is it this time, then?”

The food suddenly turns to ash on his tongue when the question is posed, and Percival deliberately chews slow before swallowing to delay his answer. This is the moment of truth, he thinks. Reputations aren’t always true, he knows better, but Theseus is quite well-known for one. Still, he will have to risk it this once even if he does regret it afterwards, because he’s sure his friend will forgive him before the next millenium.

“It’s, hm, someone you know,” he starts bravely, and stops.

Theseus waits, realizes he isn’t continuing. “If this is a guessing game, that isn’t much of a clue,” he drawls.

Why is this so fucking difficult, Percival laments, before steeling himself. “IthinkI’minlovewithyourbrother.”

And curse his luck, Theseus looks like he understands the jumble of words that came out. Don’t they usually ask to repeat it and give the other person an excuse to ‘never mind’ out of the conversation? Percival watches with held breath, so to speak, as his friend’s eyes widen and his jaw drops a little. He braces for the inevitable.

Strangely, however, it isn’t outrage and fury that follows, but quietness. Theseus regards him with an unreadable expression which then bleeds unexpectedly into concern, of all things.

“Artemis?” he says at last, voice uncertain. “Are you sure?”

It throws Percival off. “I—yes, but… Aren’t you angry?”

“About what?” Theseus snorts, crossing his arms. “That you’ll break his heart? Trust me, you are last person I worry who will do so.”

Oh. That’s good, Percival supposes, but this exchange still very much perplexes him.

“Even if it wasn’t you, he would—” Theseus makes a face and shuts his mouth. He eyes Percival carefully for a moment, then grins wide. “Anyway, what do you know about our lovely Newt? I hope he didn’t stumble down here accidentally, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

The sudden change in tone and expression raises Percival’s suspicion, because it seemed as if Theseus had been about to reveal something important, and not anything good. He can only guess as to what it might be even while starting to think that perhaps this isn’t a good idea, after all. But he counts his blessings nonetheless because Theseus hasn’t maimed him yet, hasn’t outright denied him permission to court his precious brother.

“Well, we haven’t met, exactly,” Percival explains, searching for any negative signs on the other. “But I’ve seen him around in my recent trips aboveground and he's—he has the loveliest shade of green for eyes, changes with the lighting of day and night. It suits that cute face, and his hair looks made to be petted and brushed. He’s positively gorgeous under the sun but it’s truly under the moonlight that his beauty shines, like his namesake.”

He got carried away, Percival belatedly realizes when silence meets his poetic waxing of Newt. Well, it is rather awkward to be revealing such things to the brother of your potential intended, and he can feel heat start to creep up his neck.

Theseus, for his part, looks pensive. “You’ve been topside, recently?”

Percival frowns. How is that the only thing he got from all the compliments he gave? And then his friend’s face shifts once more, some kind of revelation occurring to him.

“Oh, so that was—”

The next thing he knows, his friend disappears from across the table and reappears next to him, takes both hands in his and stares with wide eyes full of sympathy, much to his surprise.

“I give you my blessings, and wish you all the luck,” Theseus offers sincerely and it makes Percival wary, seeing how  _worried_  the man seems. “Please don’t give up on my brother; it’ll be worth it.”

 

 

The day he finally meets Artemis—Newt—the sun is too bright in his eyes as usual when he passes through the gates.

Sometime after Theseus’s visit, he decided to leave his realm with great hopes of finding him and revealing his intentions to court the lovely being. He wanders around fields to forests he vaguely recalls as the young god’s favourite spots, but with each day that passes, Newt being nowhere in sight, his hope dwindles. He debates at the end of each day if he should stay out longer each day, impose a vacation upon himself to remain up here, or try again tomorrow.

This is one of the disadvantages about his unfamiliarity with the world above: a new territory full of strangers who are unwilling to lend him a listening ear. It isn’t as if he can help his nature as result of his given power and environment—drew the short end of the stick, one might say—but he harms no one, even when he has cause to do so. He strives to be honourable and just, fair and objective; is a tad awkward at making friends. But they call him cold and cruel, dark, unsociable, probably always plotting to overthrow Olympus one day. The truth is, he values his relationships, even the dubious ones with his brothers; every person who deigns to tolerate his presence is precious to him. But admittedly, even that becomes lonely after a few centuries and he now greatly desires to have someone by his side to call his own, someone who might enjoy his company other than his family or his only friend and love him in a different capacity.

The only problem is that he lacks confidence, which he argues about with Zeus all the time. It had taken him some years to approach the lovely Persephone and much courage to be persistent in his affections, but the rejection had hurt to the point that he hadn’t wanted to search for another for long afterwards. Not everyone can so charismatic and charming and have men and women fall at their feet regardless of whether they appear human or not. His sister-in-law would argue that too much charisma is not such a good thing, and he agrees to a certain extent, yet…

“Hello, there.”

Startled, Percival looks up from his seat against a random tree and sees the face of an angel, the sun behind him creating a magnificent halo of light around his head.

He feels blessed.

“Um, are you alright?”

Percival blinks, then grows warm at his own foolishness. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry.”

The man steps back to give him room to stand, and Percival immediately notes that he’s a little bit shorter. Well. Close enough. He then takes in the lithe body and pale, freckled skin kissed by the sun, a kind face with a generous mouth and the way vibrant energy seems to shimmer around this person. And those  _eyes_!

“Hello,” he greets, composing himself and trying to sound confident. “I’m Percival, and I—”

“Yes, I’ve heard about you,” the angel speaks. “Lord Hades of the Underworld, correct? It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He ends with a smile that lights his whole face.

“Ah, have you?” Percival asks distractedly, watching the way those curls bounce with each movement.

“From my brother,” he nods. “I’m Newt, by the way. Artemis of the Moon.”

“Hello, Newt,” and it feels wonderful to say those words out loud.

“Hello,” Newt says again. “I didn’t think I would see you up here. Are you looking for Theseus?”

“No,” Percival shakes his head, hair falling out of the loose tie. “I actually am here for you.”

Newt looks surprised, his eyes going impossibly wide. “Oh, I see. That’s fine, I suppose; any friend of Theseus is a friend of mine.”

The words make him pause, cause his heart to sink. Friends. That wasn’t—no, wait. This is good, he thinks. It might be better to take it slow this time, to lay a foundation first and build upon it.

Their conversation is a tentative one where they trade simple questions, and Newt is a shy thing at times who flushes prettily when embarrassed. Like when one of his creatures decided to take off with one of Percival’s rings and he had to chase it down. But it’s the most entertainment Percival has had in years, with another being, no less.

He already finds himself falling deeper.

It’s a very good sign when at the end of the day Newt tells him to come visit again soon, and gives him a kiss on the cheek before running off, missing the sight of Percival remaining rooted to his spot, dazed.

 

 

Their fifth meeting, Percival finds out that Newt doesn’t ‘do relationships’, to his great distress.

“Not romantic ones, at least,” Newt sighs, leaning back fully against Percival’s chest, head on his shoulder.

They’re sat in a clearing of one of his favourite forests, watching the sun just setting over the trees. Percival was excited by the progress being made because Newt seemed to enjoy his company for some reason, not shying away or being wary of him as is usual with others; he thinks Theseus must have put in a good word for him for this to be happening at all. But his hope dies again with this latest reveal.

“People are complicated, I find,” Newt continues, distracting him from his thoughts. “They’re fine, don’t get me wrong, but creatures are so much nicer. I only choose to associate with like-minded individuals, in that sense.”

Newt absently tugs at the strands of Percival’s hair spilling over the shoulders as he speaks, and it’s both joy and pain to be allowed this close.

“I must be an exception, then” he attempts to joke but doesn’t quite manage. Thankfully, Newt seems to have not noticed.

“Oh, of course,” Newt agrees sincerely. “You’re Percival, a completely different category.”

In a good way or bad, Percival doesn’t know. He briefly recalls the dinner he had with Theseus last century. As far as advices go, Percival has heard even more ambiguous ones before—but never has he received one so understated. All he wants to do is give up at this point and save himself greater heartbreak down the road by putting away his affections. That way he can enjoy what he currently has and not be greedy for more.

“—cival, are you listening?”

And there are times like this when Newt looks a certain way—at the moment, gazing up at Percival from under long lashes and lush lips forming an adorable pout—creating the most alluring sight that has him deeply desiring to hold this man firmly in his arms and lay kisses all over his face. In a moment of weakness, Percival tilts his head to knock gently against Newt’s forehead.

“I’m listening,” he replies quietly and delights helplessly in the smile he receives.

It’s not much longer after that evening that Percival decides Newt isn’t to be his. The god lives and breathes the wild, caring for his creatures with a fierce passion and hunting those who are unjust, carrying the power of the moon and wielding it with such grace.

He’s beautiful in freedom, nothing tying him down. And so Percival will not ask to become his shackles.

He says as much to his friend the next time they meet, and watches Theseus’s face fall.

“How did you come to that conclusion?” he asks incredulously. “I was sure this was going to work out.”

“Do you even know your own brother?” Percival shoots back. “I’m not the one for him; no one is, really. No one deserves him.”

Theseus sighs and drags a hand over his face, mutters something suspiciously like, “Zeus, give me strength,” then louder, addressing him, “You know, this noble aspect of your personality is nice and all, but this is getting ridiculous. It’s you who doesn’t know my brother, Perce.”

Percival huffs. “I will still cherish him as a dear friend—”

“But you have yet to try, Percival,” comes a melodious voice, and both his and Theseus’s head turn towards the entrance of his office to find Newt standing there like a beacon of light.

“Newt?” Percival gasps. “How did you get here?”

“Oh, I just followed,” is all he says before walking over towards them. “Goodness, if I knew you were thinking of quitting, I would have asked a while ago.”

Percival stares at that sweet smile in confusion.

“Be careful, Newt,” Theseus says. “Be gentle with him.”

And with those words, his friend exchanges knowing nods with Newt and then sweeps out of room. What in the world—

“Percival.”

Though light in tone, Percival somehow senses something darker in that voice. Newt covers the rest of the distance in a mere few steps, almost gliding along the floor, and perches himself on the corner of Percival’s desk once he reaches it. There’s an easy confidence to his movements, only a shadow of the shy mannerisms Percival associates him with remaining. His eyes meet Percival’s, unwavering.

“How have you been, darling?” Newt asks.

 _Darling_. The word echoes in Percival’s ear. He swallows.

“Good,” Percival manages. “Busy.”

“Yet you have time to meet with my brother to tell him your intentions have changed.”

Strangely, he feels like he did something wrong. “My apologies. This was—I didn’t mean for you to find out. It’s never going to happen, so please don’t worry about it.”

“Why not?”

Percival pauses. “’Why not’, you say. I love you, Newt,” he blurts out in a sudden fit of honesty since there is no point in hiding anymore. “But you wish for friendship, so that is what I will give you. I am perfectly happy with that.”

Newt just stares—quite intensely, Percival thinks—until it makes him nervous. Then the man leans over, holds himself up with a hand flat on the desk. His face comes closer before he speaks.

“Percy, ever since I saw you at the great gathering last millennia on Olympus, I’ve wanted nothing more than to ravage you silly.”

It take an embarrassing long time to process what Newt says.

“Excuse me?” he croaks out.

“But like I’ve said, relationships aren’t important to me. Or rather I should say, they’re much too important for me to dally in with such light-heartedness like some others. My virtue is not something I can simply lose to another on a whim; for me, it must be to someone I can have forever.”

Percival’s head spins with everything he hears, unable to believe what is coming out of Newt’s mouth.

“I needed to gauge who you were as a person, if you would be worthy, and you turned out to be beyond my expectations. Kind, compassionate, deliberate and responsible, and quite romantic.”

The description has Percival warming and he looks away, not knowing how to respond. So all this time, Newt had been seeking as well; even longer than him, perhaps. And as someone who greatly values loyalty, he needed to test Percival and his intentions. So what does it mean for them now?

A hand cups his jaw and turns his head back.

“Will you grant me the honour of courting you, Percival?” Newt asks softly, eyes impossibly gentle. His finger strokes lightly along the skin at Percival’s throat.

And though he is god of the Underworld, one of the most powerful if not the most, right this moment he feels like prey in the hands of a hunter.

He licks suddenly dry lips, tries not to notice the way Newt catches it. “Only if you allow me to court you in return.”

A beatific smile breaks out on Newt’s face and he hums a noise of happiness. The hand draws back to Percival’s disappointment, instead picks up one of his own and lifts it to Newt’s lips. A kiss is pressed softly onto the back of it and the gesture makes Percival’s insides squirm in embarrassment and delight.

“That would be my pleasure,” Newt replies and finally leans back. “I will see you soon.”

And with one last smile, he walks out with the same confident strides of earlier, leaving Percival dazed in reminiscence of their first meeting and wondering for hours afterwards.


	3. and then everything from Newt's POV

There are few things certain in life even for gods. Such as the fidelity of your husband or wife, one’s own authority and influence over an ever-changing nation of humans, even a vow of chastity especially when his father is involved.

But Artemis knows, the very moment he lays eyes upon the figure trying to meld himself with one of the pillars of the architecture despite the gaggle of people, that he must have him. That he  _will_  have him.

He is handsome, very much so in a way that immediately captures Newt’s attention—thick, dark hair that falls artfully around a youthful face contradicted by strong features set in boredom save for expressive brows. A presence enhanced by the darkness rather than being overshadowed even from this distance across the large main hall. Eyes are sharp and focused, observant as they watch the ongoings of the party, somehow without alerting any of the attendees. His robes shimmer around a strong, compact body, muscles defined under smooth skin which is bare at the throat, arms and feet, and he shines like a beacon.

It’s the millennium gathering of Olympus where not a single one of them is to be absent, a good opportunity to catch up with those you haven’t seen for a while and meet new faces. Not Newt’s preferred way of spending time by any means, but a week out of a thousand years is hardly a chore. This is Newt’s third gathering, and he wonders how he never noticed that one before. But to be fair, the first two gatherings were nerve-wracking and quite boring respectively, and he couldn’t be bothered to mingle in such a chaotic atmosphere. As well, this god seems particularly well-versed in the ways of subtlety and stealth, and Newt may not have been aware of his presence if not for his current maturity in power.

It must be Fate. Or Eros, but Newt still has his confiscated arrows from last time.

He turns to his brother, recently renamed Theseus after the little man he inadvertently aided on his adventure for whom he developed a soft spot; appeals to his slight hero complex, probably.

“Who is that?” Newt asks, pointing to the one in the shadows.

“Hm? I don’t see—oh, Percival? Uncle Hades, if you want to be technical,” Theseus answers. “He’s a good friend of mine.”

“A friend you haven’t even greeted yet,” Newt says pointedly.

“He will come to me eventually,” Theseus vaguely remarks. “For now, it’s best to leave him alone when he’s like that.”

Newt frowns, confused, but leaves it be. “Will you introduce me?”

“What? That’s—” Theseus shakes his head, eyeing him with disbelief. “Never mind, it’s fine; no need to be nice and bother yourself with him.”

That just makes Newt frown harder because he would very much like to make Percival’s acquaintance, but Theseus is already looking elsewhere, greeting someone else.

In the middle of the week, Newt finds out that Theseus had lied. Percival doesn’t approach first at any point, but rather it’s his brother who sneaks away from the party to seek him. If not for the limited area of this event and his own interest in the god, he might have lost sight of them. But even then, Newt ends up following to a surprisingly secluded section of the mountain, a ledge hidden just so. He moves himself behind a slab of rock some distance away, but immediately gets caught by Theseus who glares and gestures for him to go. The silly motions go unnoticed by Percival who has his back to them, remains oblivious as he looks out into the scenery.

Newt, of course, stays right where he is.

Theseus makes a last rude gesture towards him before turning back to Percival and opening his arms for an embrace that does not provoke envy. No, the envy rises when they part, and the loveliest smile Newt has ever seen graces such pretty lips—and it’s all directed at his brother. If he didn’t know Theseus was happily married, he might have doubted their friendship being only that.

They start talking and Newt can’t hear a word of it, but he watches how Percival opens up like a blooming flower from his protective shell, his shoulder-length hair flowing gently in the breeze and robes black like the night flapping delicately. Newt has never been one for carnal desires, having chosen to remain pure for various reasons and not once in all these years had someone tempted him even in the slightest; but with this man, he can picture himself quite vividly laying with him, cherishing him like he has no other being.

The idea makes Newt pause, gives him much to think about all of a sudden, to assess and to consider. He mustn’t be hasty with something like this as one who represents strong will and loyalty and purity. His hand tightens on the side of the rock when Percival leans in closer, completely at ease with Theseus whereas earlier he had seemed to want nothing more than to disappear from everyone else’s sight.

Shy, is he? Perhaps that’s why Theseus warned him off. Unfortunately, it does nothing to quell his curiosity, appeals greatly to his instinct for a hunt, in fact. Whether he is worthy to be sought after is something to be seen, but the prospect of it already excites Newt. Patience, he tells himself, and decides to relent for now, steps back.

When he returns to the main attraction, he is immediately met by the sisters of Harvest. They’re as beautiful as usual with their respective brown and golden curls.

“Artemis,” Demeter greets warmly, cheeks glowing pink for some reason.

“Ladies,” Newt nods in return, glancing up then away.

“We’re looking for your brother. Have you seen him?” asks Persephone.

“Ah, yes, he’s with Lord Hades,” and as soon as he answers, he wonders if he should have revealed that.

The girls gasp.

“Really? That is rather brave of him,” Persephone muses.

“It must be the Sun in him,” Demeter adds. “Balances out the darkness a little, probably.”

“What do you mean?” Newt questions, meeting their eyes.

“You know what they say about him, do you not?”

Shrugging, Newt allows them to explain so that he may gain more information on his possible intended. People are complicated and contradictory, and it’s hardly worth the headache of navigating through gossip and politics of his kind. Now, however, he has found reason to.

They call him dark like it’s a terrible thing, gloomy, rude, unsociable and unapproachable. That he never leaves the Underworld and only ever appears at this event because it’s required of him, and has powers that will surely curse anyone nearby. No one knows what he’s thinking, but he must be holding a grudge against his brothers who rule the better realms.

Nothing of what they say describes what Newt had seen nor mention his beauty. It paints a terrible picture, much to Newt’s disappointment; this isn’t the information he is seeking.

“And he almost nabbed poor Persephone to be his wife! The nerve of him,” Demeter cries out angrily.

That startles Newt, and his heart twists. Oh, for Percival to already love another… “Is that true?”

“Sister, you’re getting it wrong again,” Persephone chides. “He was a gentleman about it, surprisingly kind. If I didn’t already have my heart set on another, I might have considered. He’s actually quite handsome.”

It seems Persephone had the privilege of engaging with Percival romantically and was even approached by him first. Yet, she rejected him. And here is Newt, interfered by his own brother like some mother who is trying to protect her only daughter’s virtue. There is something wrong with this.

“You should stay away from him,” Demeter warns, “Your brother as well. He seems to like brightness, that one.”

At last, it’s the first bit of information that is remotely useful, Newt thinks.

For the rest of the week, Newt maintains his distance and watches from afar, notes how even when Percival attempts to greet someone they avoid him. The man’s face closes more with each attempt and soon, slips back to somewhere even Newt can no longer see, unfortunately. And so, he decides to find him at the end of the event.

What Newt doesn’t count on is how quickly the man disappears, and his stomach sinks while recalling that the god hardly ever comes up above in between the gatherings. Such a terrible miscalculation on his part! And it isn’t as if he can go to the Underworld as he pleases; as well, Hermes owes him no favours for the moment. The last thing he wants to do is alert his brother by asking him when things are yet tentative.

So, Newt resigns himself to likely a very long wait ahead of him, and neither parting with his brother nor the prospect of returning to his creatures do much to affect his overall unhappiness and disappointment.

What luck it is, then, when his creatures whisper of a being shrouded like the moon on a cloudy night not even a century later, one that hovers at the edge of a field not too far from the End of the world. It takes effort for Newt not to immediately go and see for himself, dutifully attending to his duties even as he worries that the presence will be gone. But once they are finished, he rides on the quickest of beasts to where the being still dwells and slows its tread when he is close enough to see.

Indeed, it is Lord Hades, almost a silhouette in itself under the sun, gaze far away.

Newt steps down carefully and pats his thanks on the beast’s flank before sending it away. He plans to approach the god like it’s a coincidence, keeping his eyes turned elsewhere lest he notices too soon. But it foils the moment he steps foot into the area, his stealth as a hunter no match for a greater power. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Percival stiffen and in the next moment, he’s gone.

He was too hasty.

Disappointment fills him as he looks upon the now-empty field, yet he also feels challenged. Next time, he will do better.

In light of that fruitless attempt, it’s surprising when he receives news that Percival walks these grounds again another couple centuries later, this time at a different location: a forest. The nearest forest is nowhere near the End and it is a place under his rule. As curious as he is, Newt waits to see what will happen.

The Lord of the Underworld seeks, his creatures tell him; seeks what, Newt asks, but no answer is forthcoming. Not the first time nor the second, not even the third.

Not until in true coincidence—or Fate, Newt believes—Percival comes to the forest where Newt dwells for the night. He hides just beyond the thickest part and so Newt pretends not to see, stretches languidly upon the rock he sits and enjoys the shine of the Moon. He hears a gasp and hides a smile, tilts his head just so that the light will dance around the contours of his face, soften the blaze of his hair and make him glow.

Percival is gone again by the time he glances his way, but Newt is left with the confidence that the god has been seduced tonight.

 

 

 

When Theseus inquires about his unusual behaviour—not that unusual but this one knows him better—Newt decides to be truthful to a certain extent and reveals to his brother that he may have found someone he’d like to marry.

Theseus eyes him sceptically. “Already? But you’re still young.”

“I’m old enough,” Newt retorts. “I don’t want anyone to take him first.”

The admission surprises Theseus some, then he grins. “Oh, is he a pretty, young thing who attracts attention everywhere he goes? You’ve always been one for a bit of competition.”

Newt shrugs. Pretty, yes; not so young, however. The matter of attention remains to be seen, because if Newt in his youth can see Percival’s beauty for what it is, then surely others do, too, despite their supposed animosity towards him. Persephone had said as much before.

He expects shock and outrage when Theseus finds out the true identity of his intended, but all he says is, “Are you sure?”

Newt just stares.

“Well, of course you are,” Theseus sighs, answering his own question. “You’ve never done things by halves or in jest. So, you’ve been hunting him all this time; that explains everything.”

Indeed he has—laying the lures, playing bait, leading Percival step by step into the trap of Newt’s arms. He is the greatest of hunters, never losing sight of what he targets.

“I gave him my blessing, because Fortuna knows the poor bastard needs loads of it,” Theseus continues, then waits a beat. His eyes turn unexpectedly solemn, stands tall and intimidating like the mighty entity he is and makes Newt a bit nervous. “Know this, little brother: he wants forever, and so do you, thankfully, but if you can’t ensure that don’t even bother.”

“He—” Newt pauses, awed, tries to wrap his head around the best news he can receive. “So he’d be willing to be mine and only mine.”

“I reckon,” his brother agrees. “But if you break his heart, I will stab you in the arse with one of your own arrows.”

Raising a brow, Newt snorts. “Aren’t you saying that to the wrong person?”

“I can’t very well threaten the most powerful being among us,” is the easy reply. “I’ve always wanted to give that speech, so indulge me.”

“Your concerns aren’t needed,” Newt huffs. “He will be in good hands.”

“That’s  _exactly_  why I worry.”

 

 

 

Their wedding is in a field at the peak of spring, full of bright sun and colourful florals that Percival secretly loves. It’s small and private, unknown to the whole of Olympus save for a few close acquaintances who had been surprised by the invitation, thrown by the fact that they had been courting one another in private.

They vow to one another in the eyes of witnesses to remain faithful and everlasting, no one except themselves believing in the words. Percival’s eyes shine gold with the wetness of his tears, shocking the guests with this aspect of him, mirrored by Newt’s own green. They murmur curiously amongst themselves and he hides Percival’s reddening face from them with a kiss that seals the promise.

The celebration lasts a fortnight though they keep mostly to themselves, mainly being an excuse for the others to drink and dine and copulate as they please. It’s after the party that Newt anticipates, sitting in Percival’s lap and smiling rather foolishly, he imagines, at his new husband who watches him adoringly as he sips his own wine. Newt catches the ends of his silky locks and twirls them between his fingers, tugs Percival closer by them and in for a kiss or five. His husband tastes of wine and something uniquely him and he can’t get enough, licks deep into his mouth to chase it. It’s all the sweeter because Percival opens to him in trust and it’s worth every hour, every year spent gaining it for himself.

At the end of it all when it’s only the two of them, they make love as husband and wife under the praise of stars and blessing of the Moon. Newt moans endearments into Percival’s throat and behind his ear, tangles fingers into his hair that fans beautifully around him on the grass, darkening further at the forehead with the efforts of each movement. Percival clings to him at the shoulders and hips preciously so, the cries falling from his lips the most melodious sounds Newt has ever heard, even more than the howl of any creature.

“My Queen,” Percival calls to him as he shakes apart from the intensity of one sensation after another.

“My Lord,” Newt answers, pressing the words onto swollen lips slack with pleasure.

He holds his husband close afterwards, stroking his hair back and grounding him with soft touches. Percival mouths at the spot on Newt’s shoulder where he claims is painted with the god’s favourite constellation of freckles. It tickles, and Newt nips at the shell of Percival’s ear in retaliation.

They laugh together like children, giddy with the joy of their union.

 

 

By the time of the next gathering, news of their marriage has spread throughout all realms. When they arrive, they’re regarded like an exhibit collectively by the attendees already there; but more importantly, his husband is  _noticed_.

He already is the most beautiful thing in Newt’s eyes, but with the love poured upon him day after day, every moment available that they have, he positively glows. And now, they all know what they’ve lost. The only thing is that they draw to him like flies to a luscious fruit with shallow compliments on their lips and hunger in their eyes.

How pathetic.

Percival, ever so accustomed to being shunned and avoided, merely eyes them with mild curiosity and polite disinterest before turning back to Newt, an arm sliding around his waist and leaning in close. It may be petty of him, but Newt takes great satisfaction in the disappointment on all their faces. He smiles at them just over the top of Percival’s head, a hint of sharpness to warn them off, then pulls his husband closer for a kiss that makes him tremble. Newt grins.

“Lord Percival, Newt.”

They part and turn as one to find Queenie and—unexpectedly—Athena.

“Sera?” he hears Percival gasp. “You—you and—”

“I would have fought you for her if I had to,” Athena says, quirking her lips.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Queenie smiles, truly seeming apologetic. “You’re a wonderful person, I’m sure, but I absolutely couldn’t.”

They look gorgeous together, Newt observes, contrasting while complementing one another at the same time.

“Yes, I see that, now,” Percival sighs, but it doesn’t sound pained in anyway. Newt feels his arm tighten against him. “Congratulations are in order.”

“I believe yours comes first,” Athena bows slightly. “We’ll send a wedding gift, soon, belated as it is.”

Percival thanks them and they move on, weaving through crowds of people that take far too much interest in the newlyweds. It gets to the point that Newt threatens to set his creatures upon someone and Percival needs to drag him away, and they find themselves on a secluded edge of the mountain where his husband shuts Newt’s whining with kisses.

“He touched you,” Newt grumbles, a bit pacified. “I swear he did.”

“How can anyone not with how crowded that place is,” Percival reasons, brushing through his curls and scratching behind his ear.

“Percy, love, I’m not your dog,” but Newt presses into the touch anyway.

“You certainly do act like one, darling,” Percival says with a sweet smile.

“I’d like to think I’m more of a mighty wolf,” Newt hums.

And then he backs Percival against a wall of stone and proceeds to demonstrate exactly how much of a beast he can be.


End file.
